


Avarice

by DarknStormy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Almost Stockholm Syndrome, Eventual Smut, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Romance, Shapeshifting Dragon, What am I doing?, not sure how to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknStormy/pseuds/DarknStormy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Smaug the Tyrannical decides that, after years of sleeping in gold, what he has isn't enough and he wants more to round out his collection. What would fit in better than the pretty King of the Woodland Realm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Omen

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a prologue than it is a chapter. I'm sorry if I upset anyone with my lack of Tolkien knowledge. I just wanted to ship a dragon and an Elf. Bite me. I hope you all enjoy and I'm sorry for any errors. Still playing with the formatting. This work is simply non-profit fan-fiction and I do not claim to own any of the characters.

The soft tinkle of falling and shifting gold coins and jewels against each other was usually a welcome sound. It was a reminder of how well he'd done for himself, how immense and vast his horde was. How pleasurable the feel of gold was against his scaly hide. He should have been undoubtedly satisfied with his stash, with the knowledge that the petty creatures that lived in the realms surrounding the mountain were living in abject poverty and misery because of him. However, a low heat burned in the pit of his belly. 

It wasn't enough. It had been in the beginning. He was content with the self indulgent belief that everyone was envious of his wealth, that he'd done those foolish dwarfs a service by laying them to waste and taking what was only fit for someone of his stature.

But now... Now that urge was back. The desire, the want, the empty need for _more_. If his coins and jewels could freely shift and slide against each other, there was too much empty space. When he raised his mighty head, he could see the empty halls that led to the main hall. Those could be filled to the brim if he had more. More treasure. More, more, more. His collection was not complete, he thought to himself one day, a plume of smoke curling lazily from his nostrils as he shifted languorously beneath the very pile he inwardly criticized. What was the point though? It wasn’t as if he needed the gold; he wouldn’t be buying anything that was useful to a dragon any time in the near future. Nonetheless, the greed and covetousness that boiled within him stirred him to move. Rumbling lowly in his throat, the great dragon shook the gold from his body and rose up, stretching his wings. He could do it. Rejoin the outside world for the sole purpose of raping it for its wealth again. Rejoin the outside world for the sole purpose  of injecting quivering fear into the hearts of those who had even considered the notion of falling into a false sense of security. A false sense of “the dragon sleeps, we are safe”.

No. The Dragon Dread would show them all that he was a force to still be considered. A force to be feared. Smaug would remind them of death.

 

 

> _The air was thick with fire and heavy with the scents of ash, smoke, and something not at all human. Each breath he took filled his lungs with cloying particles and coughing only served to sharpen the pain in his chest with each contraction of his diaphragm. Around him, the screams and the cries of people melting were nearly as stifling as the heat emitted from the burning buildings that were to his left and right. He nearly stumbled when a woman rushed passed him, clutching her wailing child to her chest. Her dress was badly singed, embers burning on the hem and back of it, and he was sure that running would only make it worse. However, he had no more time to think of it as a large and impossibly large shadow eclipsed him. If it was possible, the air grew ten times hotter though he shivered as if chilled in his armour as a low growl shook through him. His sword dropped from his hand as he quickly reached behind himself for his bow and he whipped around despite the knowledge that mere arrows would do nothing against the thick, nigh impenetrable hide of his adversary. He nearly dropped his weapons in fear as the immense serpent reared it's massive head back and opened his mouth, displaying the glowing furnace down its throat. The flames came rushing from the dragon's mouth and licked at him, melting his skin and he could barely scream as....._

Bolting upright in bed, Thranduil tried to at least calm his heaving breaths and raised a normally graceful but now shaking hand to wipe sweat from his brow. That dream... that nightmare had never been more vivid. He hadn't been _that_ close to the dragon that had suddenly shown its presence during the War of the Last Alliance. Something was wrong. This was an omen. Thranduil pushed down the bad feeling. There should be no reason to worry when there was no evidence of any dragon like activity.

Laying back down against his plush pillows, he stared up at the high ceilings in his quarters and blinked slowly as the clouds shifted and allowed the bright light of the moon to filter through the large windows. He could almost make out the broad span of leather wings and the menacing outreach of claws. The deep glow of angry but smug eyes. There was an almost audible sharp crackle of flames and the faint shrill screams from long ago.

Reaching up, he smacked the image away. There was nothing to fear. His subjects were safe here in Mirkwood, away from that mountain. Away from the last of the dragons. His family was safe. His son. Himself. Calling himself silly, he turned onto his side and slipped back into a light sleep, ignoring the way his left side of his face prickled and stung in remembrance.

 

 


	2. Comes to Fruition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! I didn't expect so many people to read this! Thank you all. I'd also like to give a special shoutout to jessieb for leaving a deliciously lovely comment~ I'm not sure what day I'll pick as a posting day so keep your eyes peeled for random updating. Again, the characters belong to the delightful J.R.R Tolkien and not me.

The downbeat of his wings was almost made audible by the crisp night air whistling around him as he soared over the clouds that had unknowingly allied itself with him. The creatures that lived below would have no knowledge of his presence until he alone decided to descend. He crooned lowly in his throat at the subtle way the wind dipped and slid along his gold plated belly, tickling here and there with silken fingers. Sleeping amidst his treasures was grand but this- the relaxing sensation of being held aloft by only faint slipstreams, of floating effortlessly above thousands of witless people- this feeling was far more euphoric.

 

Suddenly, from nowhere it seemed, his mind was filled with thoughts of his former self. Flashes of being free and treasure-less. Snippets of terrorizing and feasting and destroying without worry. Nearly vague memories of being a young and foolish drake. He could have that again. The great expanse of the open night sky that surrounded him beckoned with an almost shy whisper. _Come. Free yourself._ He could be free again. He could ravage the lands that lay just beneath him whenever he wished, be a constant reminder that the last dragon meant pain and suffering and death. He could... Angry, that parasitic greed inside him flared up.

 

Smaug snorted at himself.

 

How foolish of himself. Who in their right mind would give up billions in gold, jewels, and silver for a measly bit of freedom. The rasp of coins against his scales was much more pleasant than any wind after all. The scent of material gain was far more intoxicating than the deceptive stench of this openness. Any fool would jump at the opportunity of being too rich. Of having it _all_. Of having it all for no reason and not having to worry about anyone taking it. This was power and Smaug was addicted.

 

Disgusted by his previous thoughts, the dragon caught a whiff of human. He sneered, lips curling back from his jagged teeth, and with a minor wing adjustment, swooped into a downward spiral. From his mouth, he issued forth all the fires of Hell, the very flames that had been pent up within him from years of disuse. He gave no time for the people to scramble for shelter or defense and soon, many of the buildings that comprised Laketown had been burned into feeble skeletons. Smoking bodies littered the canals and narrow alleyways. Little fish were grateful to make a tentative meal from the charred remains that floated face down between boats and small skiffs. 

 

Some where, everywhere, women and children screamed. 

 

Cries that the great dragon had awaken filled the once empty night air as those who uttered those cries filled the belly of the beast. Despite the free meal, Smaug was not pleased. How greatly it irked him that there was barely any wealth to be stolen. This point was brazenly made by Laketown's impudent “Master”, a round and badly balding man, as he cowered beneath Smaug's hooked claws. 

 

The man smelled greatly of wine and slightly of urine.

 

“The Elves!” The man had sniveled when questioned about his choice of drink. “I..we buy it from the Elves. If anyone is wealthy, it would be them, O magnificent one!” 

 

Smaug paused,

 

He'd never dabbled in any dealings with the mystical Elves before but even he had heard of the wines they produced. Much like most of their products and services, the brews that came from them were nothing short of perfection. Liquid gold. How unfortunate it was that dragons weren't alcoholics. Shifting his grip on the hysterical man, the fire-drake plotted. 

 

“You say, little master, that the Elves possess your wealth?” He questioned silkily, drawing closer to the man in lazy interest.

 

“Y-yes! We trade with them regula-ack!”

 

Smaug's large, marble like eyes flashed and the master gasped at seeing his disheveled reflection in those glassy surfaces. The dragon hissed in irritation.

 

“I care not of your trade agreements, pig,” Smaug spat, his chest glowing as flames built up. The gold lining his belly glinted innocently and mirrored the surrounding burning homes. “Hurry and tell me what I wish to know before I lose my patience and roast you like one.” 

 

Fear newly stoked, the master babbled quickly about the way he cleverly stole from the people he governed via taxes, how he sent a man named Bard to ferry the barrels of wine to him, how sweet the wine tasted with whatever meal he'd have. Unimpressed but heavy with plans, Smaug decided that he'd heard enough and contracted his claws slowly, almost flexing them lazily until the rambling came to a raspy halt. Disgusting creature. He couldn't bring himself to eat it. Stretching his wings, he took off in the direction of Mirkwood.

 

Outwardly, the king sat stoically on his magnificently crafted throne as he listened to his messenger frantically inform him of the approaching danger, The king's demeanor was calm: long legs crossed daintily, slender hands folded neatly in his lap, and head tilted slightly to the right to indicate his attention. He was the picture of pride and dignity, the only grounding force in the grand throne room as guards and bystanders alike began to murmur anxiously. News of the dragon was spreading quickly through out the castle, reverberating off the walls and growing to a feverish pitch. The din of voices was headache inducing. What did it want? When would it arrive? Could it even find them within the forest? How would they protect themselves? Would they all- The king raised his hand and gave a slight nod of his head, immediately commanding the attention of all. In one grace filled motion, he stood and let his arms sweep out, sending his subjects a soothing pulse. A sample of his calm. 

 

“There is no need to fear,” he began, voice low but powerful. Soft yet commanding. Ambitious and reassuring. A wave of awe swept over the crows and their shoulders dipped downwards as they began to relax again, allowing themselves to be assuaged. 

 

“There is no need for fear. The Dragon of the North only travels in this direction; for what? I know not. But what would a dragon want from us? Nothing, for we have nothing to give it. No vile demon nor insidious creature has ever freely set foot in our domain without our ability to eradicate it. We are safe within our walls. The forest is our home and it shall protect us. No, there is nothing to fear.”

 

A collective sigh could be heard echoing throughout the hall and then, instantly, it hushed again as the Elf-king tilted his chin. 

 

“Even so, we shall not be foolish. We shall be vigilant, cautious, careful. As a precaution, no one is to leave the kingdom until this threat has passed. I do not order this out of stringency, only out of love. In hopes to keep you safe.” Like children being protected by their parents, the Elves' anxieties were quelled and they continued about their duties in reverence to their king. 

 

Inwardly, Thranduil was a mess of panic and dread. His cerulean blue eyes were were impossibly wide and unconsciously, his mouth formed a soundless scream. This could not be happening. His one fear, this phobia, his nightmare was coming to fruition. Inwardly, his skin had blanched and his hands shook. Only his beloved son could witness the way he fell apart...behind closed doors of course 

 

“Ada, please calm down,” Legolas bid, nervous himself as he watched his normally unemotional father.”You could not have prevented the beast's arrival. Not even with the knowledge of your dream.”

 

Shaking his head- and sending his lengthy, platinum blonde hair into a tizzy around his shoulders- Thranduil hid his face behind his hand. If he closed his eyes, he could keep the hyperventilating away.

 

“This should not have been a surprise,” he snapped lightly. “I should have given some warning, some sign. Our people could have been readied for this... we could have been prepared.” 

 

Legolas frowned, though he was eager to please and remain steadfast for his father. Reaching out, he grabbed his Ada by his narrow shoulders and tried to calm him with an embrace, the one they always shared when times seemed dark. 

 

“We'll fight it, Ada. Tauriel and I will take the army and...” 

 

The archer cut himself off when he felt the older Elf shake his head and turn away.

 

“Our weapons are nothing against dragon hide,” he lamented, removing the crown of meticulously woven twigs from atop his head. “There is nothing we can do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ada"= father


	3. Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible. I get some nice reviews and what do I do? Make you lovely people wait. I am very sorry about the delay, this chapter was kinda difficult to write. Not sure why. Without further ado, here it is. Chapter 3~ Once again, none of the characters belong to me.

That nagging little voice of paranoia was growing into a clamorous roar inside his mind, adding a hint of desperation to each down beat of his wings. Beneath him, the breeze caused leaves to rustle and scrape against each other, creating an almost static sound in the air. Something was off about this forest. Something malignant and Smaug greatly disliked it. He'd never been to this region before, never encountered a forest so adamantly thick before. His shadow, cast down by the noonday sun, stood out plainly on the tree tops. It was noon....and he was still flying. 

“Too much. Too much,” that acidic voice chanted, “You're taking too much time.”

“Go back.”

“They've found your treasure....”

Smaug almost faltered in mid-air at that thought. That was impossible. They couldn't have. He'd only been gone for hours. Those disgusting dwarves couldn't possibly be there, tainting his horde. Would they? They wouldn't be touching his gold with their nasty little dwarf hands, would they? Those thoughts nearly sent Smaug back to the Lonely Mountain. Maybe the Elves weren't worth losing his wealth...

Irritated with himself and his contrary thoughts, the drake contemplated just burning the forest down in it's entirety, in hopes of finding the kingdom faster. He changed direction slightly and almost let out a cry of joy when he was rewarded for his troubles. There, amid the canopy, was a gnarled and twisted spire. Around it, the trees grew closely, crowding the structure as if to consciously camouflage it. The great serpent whipped his tail out and, using the sharp scutes that lined the appendage, cleared a landing spot for himself. The Elves' castle was dark and quiet though buzzing with a soft anxious energy. It was indeed a grand piece of architecture in all it's carved glory, seemingly molded from wood and another dark material that Smaug was unfamiliar with. Though the stained, light blue color left a little to be desired, the dragon wished that he could somehow transport his myriads of wealth to this beautiful castle. But alas. It must burn and how nicely it would once he dosed the structure with flames. Chest beginning to glow with heat, Smaug opened his mouth to breathe fire, the air around him crackling and the tree boughs shrinking back in fear of the heat.

He would give them no chance. He knew that they knew he was there. How smart of them to cower in fear. How useless. The serpent would destroy their home and their forest. He would steal from them and teach them of his fire, of his power, of his magnificence. He would..... pause in surprise as the most beautiful treasure he'd ever had the pleasure of setting his eyes upon strode confidently from the suddenly open castle doors.

The creature held his head high, his pointed crown of woven twigs settled perfectly on atop his sleekly styled hair. His eyes gleamed a bright cerulean color as they cast upwards, challenging the dragon. His steps did not falter even as his robes swirled around his long legs and slender, boot-clad feet. The Elfking came to a halt a few paces from the great serpent, at the end of the carved bridge that led to the castle gates. Not close enough for Smaug to do anything but close enough for his keen eyes to notice the minuet tremors that just barely shook the Elf's slender frame. Behind the king, a set of four guards guided a huge mining cart of gold, jewels, and other valuables, coming to stand with him. Very much intrigued, Smaug settled his fire and lowered his massive head in curiosity. 

“Surely,” he drawled, his lips pulling back to reveal a crude and jagged sneer. “Surely, you're not going to beg me for your life with such meager offerings?” 

Thranduil had dreaded this day. Ever since he'd gone to bed and woken up with this plan and the news that the dragon was nigh. He'd gotten bathed and dressed by himself this morning, not wanting his servants to see the paleness of his skin, his tired eyes, his anxiety. The way his hand shook as he passed a brush through his hair was ignorable but the scars that manifested on his face due to his stress had taken a few moments to tame. His crown seemed more difficult than usual to braid into his hair; his cheek stung as if if was slowly and physically being burned. 

After taking a few breaths to calm himself and to get the blood running back through his veins to chase away the paleness, Thranduil left his room and was greeted with the hustle and bustle of Elves hurrying to fortify the castle. Making his way down the hall to his throne room, the king was comforted slightly when his son caught up with him. 

“Are they ready yet?” He asked, nodding at him instead of giving the customary greeting. 

“Yes, Ada. But...are you sure that this is wise?” Legolas frowned, noting the worried glances from those passing by that Thranduil was somehow oblivious to. “Do you really want to do this?”

His father had informed the entire kingdom of his plan to rally together any and all of their wealth, much to the chagrin of of the wealthier Elves. Money, in the eyes of the Elfking, was nothing in comparison to the safety of his people. They'd all donated their valuables in hopes that the dragon would be satisfied enough to leave them be. 

The whole kingdom had heard when Smaug had arrived with the way the trees scraped against the outside of the castle walls. They all stood silently; all pausing in their duties, all with breaths bated. The usually silent gates creaked open loudly as their king exited the security of the castle. Silently, they prayed for him.

“No, Great Serpent, I come to you as a humble elf who wishes to ensure the safety of his family. I come to you to reason, not to beg. But if it must come to that, then so be it.”

Smaug wanted to laugh mercilessly in his face. This speech wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. However, the simple yet powerful tone of the Silven king almost had Smaug bidding the Elves a good day and turning back instead of pillaging. 

“As a humble elf? Nay, I see nothing humble about you in all of your finery,” the dragon spat, greed more attractive than the appealing king before him. “You look to me as a mouse does, trying to bell a cat. Perhaps I am a cat to you?”

Smaug delighted in the way the way the jugular vein in the king's neck gave a slight jump, the only display of fear in his otherwise stony expression. 

“No, dragon,” Thranduil's voice held a slight irritated venom to it. Behind him, the guards shuffled anxiously. “I do not perceive you as a mere cat. I know of your kind; I have faced the Dragons of the North.”

The fire-drake grinned and blew forth an encompassing ring of smoke around the king, who much to his credit, did not flinch nor cough. “Have you now?”

“I have.”

At the castle door, a new figure appeared, watching suspiciously with a bow and arrow in hand. Gaze flicking between the two, Smaug could easily pick out the physical similarities between this one and the Elfking. The grand lizard smirked, his pupils narrowing to tiny slits. 

“Then you shall delight in this reminder,” the Firedrake hissed pleasantly as he reared up, chest once again glowing with impatient fire. “Starting with your son...”

Glancing back, Thranduil's eyes widened he threw his hands up, rushing towards the serpent as if he could physically stop the flames from bursting forth. Smaug was impressed.

“No! No, what of the offering, Dragon?!” Thranduil shouted, scowling at the serpent. 

“What of it?” Smaug smirked, swallowing back the embers back once more. “I wondered when you'd drop that facade. I do not want your petty gold alone. I crave destruction. Now kneel to me as I lay waste to your home and you people. I will spare you so that you may tell tale of facing the Dragon of the Lonely Mountain, the Dragon of Dea-”  
“Nay! Cease your chatter! You, great worm, will do nothing of the sort, even if I must kill you myself!” Thranduil spat, much to the Dragon of Death's surprise. He'd never been interrupted in such a manner before. The king's fear had morphed into a panicked anger and adrenaline. Behind him, Legolas winced and cursed his father.....only to take it back seconds later.

“I would give anything,” The Elf continued, his slim hands clenching as they fell back to his sides. His voice commanded attention. “Anything to keep my family safe and to keep you away.” 

What a pleasant revelation.

“Anything?”

Legolas bit his tongue to keep from ruining whatever it was that his father was trying to do.

“Anything.”

“Then I want you, humble elf.”


	4. An Empty Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omigosh! I have gotten such nice feedback from you dear readers and I'd like to thank all of you who commented. Those really made my day! And not to worry, the end of the fic is not soon.....unless I write myself into a corner which i have done before. I'm sorry for any typos and again, these characters do not belong to me~

Thranduil did not remember much of the journey to the Lonely Mountain; only that in his terror, he'd clung like a baby to the dragon's dirty claw in hopes that he wouldn't be cruelly dropped to his death. Though radiating a sort of proud and smug aura, Smaug carried the elf with a gentle yet firm grip. It would not do at all to drop his new acquisition. Feeling and smelling the king's fear, the drake laughed harshly, a sound that seemed to come from deep within his throat.

 

“Do not fret, elf. If I wished to do you harm, I would've already done it,” he smirked, his wings carrying them up to a jet stream above the clouds to conserve energy.

 

As Smaug rose higher into the atmosphere, Thranduil struggled to breathe in the thin, sweet-tasting air and decided that, no. He did not like heights. He tried to keep his mind off of it, however. Tried to ignore the fact that his life now depended on the dragon's mood.

 

Instead, he thought of his beautiful woods, inhabited by his beautiful people. How worried they must be for him. He vividly recalled the angered and panicked faces of his subjects as they spilled from the castle like ants from an anthill. The sound of arrows rushing up past his head was similar to the sound of the wind passing them now. They're attempts were futile. Thankfully, the dragon had only laughed as he rose out of range of their weapons, protecting his new prize. Thranduil sincerely hoped that Legolas could rise to the challenge of governing and caring for the entire kingdom in his absence. He'd raised his son well and didn't doubt his capabilities. With the guidance of Elrond, the prince should be fine.

 

Thranduil could not help but worry still. He'd raised his son as well as he could, playing all the roles. Father, mother, king, queen, and mentor. Thranduil was dedicated to the boy, there to scold when Legolas tied knots into sleeping servants' hair and there to teach him how to properly shoot an arrow. Each year the elf king would throw lavish parties for Legolas' turning of age and would always give him the best of gifts. He dearly loved his son, adored him beyond all compare....

 

And now, he'd never see him again.

 

Frowning at his consuming thoughts, Thranduil almost missed the full body shivers that coursed through him as he realized that they were now flying lower, in the shadow of the great mountain that once belonged to the dwarves.

 

“Are you cold, little one?” Smaug rumbled, shifting his grip on the smaller being slightly. “The sun is going down, do you wish to see it one last time?”

 

Thranduil stayed silent, teeth chattering, and the drake growled in irritation at the lack of reply.

 

“Fine. Considering your pale skin, I suppose you didn't see it much anyway.”

 

Smaug sniffed haughtily and landed at the base of the mountain, freeing the king from his grasp. He half expected the elf to make a run for it but was pleased when the other remained still, only glaring up disdainfully. Ah, but this little elf's attitude was refreshing.

 

“Well?” The 'little ' elf huffed, “Surely, you didn't bring me all this way to live outside?”

 

Thranduil hoped not as the evening was growing quite cool and the thought of it getting any colder was loathsome. He could barely handle it when the stone floors back at the castle chilled his feet should they be bear. Scoffing at the king as if he were ignorant, Smaug shook his massive head.

 

“You would be a fool to think that I would allow my treasure to tarnish in the weather,” he snapped before lowering a shoulder to the king.

 

“Now climb up. I cannot carry you in my claws as I scale the mountain.”

 

Frowning suspiciously at this instruction, Thranduil edged closer to the dragon's foreleg, reaching out to carefully use the jagged scales that covered the beast as hand and foot holds. He suspected some sort of trick, thus moving warily much to Smaug's annoyance.

 

“Hurry up! We haven't all night.”

 

Biting his tongue, the Silven elf continued upwards until he settled at the base of the dragon's neck, arms barely encompassing the width of it. He forced himself not to sigh when the cold that was nipping at his body was chased away the heat that exuded from the serpent beneath him. Thranduil could not, however, ignore the thin layer of soot and gold dust that now covered him.

 

Pity that these were his good robes.

 

Lost in the lamentation of his now ruined clothes, Thranduil almost gave a yelp of surprise as Smaug lurched forward- the only turbulent moment of an otherwise smooth climb.

 

Smaug worked his way up the steep slope of the Lonely Mountain sinuously, claws easily grasping onto small ledges in the rock face. He didn’t want to marvel at the agile way the dragon climbed: contorting his long, worm-like body in an even “s” shaped pattern. Thranduil was reminded of the small lizards and salamanders that sometimes scaled the walls of the castle. They were about three quarters of the way up the mountain when Smaug stopped and leaned in close to a slight indentation in the rock, whispering something in a tongue that Thranduil could not decipher. The sound was harsh and guttural, causing the normally polished king to cringe.

 

No. He would not be able to mimic those sounds.

 

Shimmering, the rock disappeared, revealing a hole large enough for the dragon to just barely crawl into. The squeeze made Thranduil feel claustrophobic, especially when the entrance resealed as soon as Smaug pulled in his long tail and cast them in total darkness.

 

“I....I did not know you to be a sorcerer,” the king murmured, leaning down to avoid hitting his head on the jagged stalactites that hung from the roof of the entrance. They were nowhere near his head but still, he felt paranoid.

 

“There are a great many things you do not know of me,” Smaug grumbled lowly in his throat before stopping and rearing back.

 

He breathed fire ahead them, lighting intricately molded chandeliers which, in turn, shed light upon the entire grand hall below them. The heaps of gold shimmered in empty welcome. Eyes widening, Thranduil held on to the serpent's scales as Smaug descended from the entrance tunnel and into the grand hall. Looking back up, the Elf king sighed softly. It would be too high and steep for him to climb up alone; besides, how would he even get the entrance open if he did somehow climb up?

 

He was truly trapped it seemed.

 

Unless... those corridors that branched from the hall must lead somewhere. To some sort of exit. Surely, those dimwitted dwarves had other escape routes from this accursed mountain. He resolved to explore at his earliest convenience. Perhaps when the beast was asleep...

 

Beneath him, Smaug shifted.

 

“You are allowed from my back, elf,” he rumbled softly, coming to rest atop his favorite pile of gold. “Else I may crush you.”

 

To prove his point, the dragon began to roll onto his side, as a cat would, readying itself for a nap. Thranduil did not wish to be crushed.

 

Clumsily climbing down and ripping the front of his outer robe in his haste, the king slipped down the mound of treasure as soon as his feet touched it, the coins shifting slickly against against each other. He tried to catch his footing but fell hard onto his backside and sliding down further, head over heels.

 

Amused, Smaug laughed.

 

“S-shut up!” Thranduil snapped when his descent finally stopped, his anger rising as quickly as the embarrassed flush on his neck. “Shut up, you did that on purpose!”

 

“I told you to move; you just did so too slowly.”

 

The dragon smirked and, with the aid of his long, serpentine neck, lowered his head down to the flustered king who struggled to get his footing.

 

“The mountain is more damp than usual,” Smaug said, feeling the odd need to encourage the irritated elf. “You'll get used to walking on it soon enough. As for now, return up here to me. You did not hurt yourself did you, my _humble elf_?”

 

Thranduil bristled at the coddling tone of the dragon and inwardly marveled at how quickly the beast could raise his ire. At his home in Mirkwood, he was know for his patience and even temper. He had not been with the dragon a full day and already, he'd had more outbursts than he'd like to admit to.

 

“Do not patronize me!” The elf grated his white teeth, shoving at Smaug's snout unthinkingly. “Leave me be dragon! You have done enough without teasing me!”

 

His earlier smirk turning lecherous, Smaug rumbled lowly in his throat.

 

“Nay, my little king. I have not teased you near enough or in the ways that are meaningful...Come back up here to me.”

 

Bristling further, Thranduil recoiled from him, taking a few angry but still slightly shaky steps backwards.

 

“Disgusting creature!” He spat, “Vile beast! Do not speak of such things!”

 

Spotting a stone platform jutting from the coins and jewels with a carved staircase rising up along side it, Thranduil petulantly made his way to it, feet more sure than they were seconds ago. Miffed, Smaug followed along behind him and “accidently” bumped the coins with his chin, causing them to shift more. The king, in turn, was made to slip and stumble until finally, Smaug showed mercy. He nudged into the back of the king's legs, making go off balanced even more. Thranduil tipped backwards onto Smaug's nose and was deposited at the top of the platform. The dragon reared his head back in annoyance.

 

“Stubborn elf,” he scolded, voice dark and rolling with disfavor. “Are you trying to hurt yourself? Is this why you hid your true nature back in the forest? Because you are cumbersome in your anger?”

 

Embarrassed, Thranduil turned his back, moving away from him. This action further upset the dragon and Smaug growled in displeasure, slithering back into the king's line of sight.

 

“Do not turn away from me. This is a sign of submission to a dragon. Are you giving me permission to devour you? You must taste exceptionally sweet, my little elf, however, I plan on keeping you to admire until I die.”

 

Thranduil was not stupid.

 

“And how long until then?”

 

“With my life style,” Smaug mentally calculated the years before sneering. “Maybe centuries. And do not get your hopes up for my death. I happen to be young, possibly younger than you.”

 

The king scowled at him. He did not want to spend the rest of his life serving as eye candy for a conceited dragon. If he couldn't escape, he'd hopefully die soon.

 

“What am I to eat?”

 

Smaug made a shrug type of gesture, resting his head down.

 

“The mice are good.”

 

At the disgusted look on the Silven elf's face, the serpent snickered, eyes bright and glittering with mirth.

 

“Silly pet. You cannot honestly believe that I'd starve you. You yourself have said that I am one of magic. You must believe then, that I will take care of you. You shall want for nothing...”

 

Thranduil deflated at that blatant empty promise.

 


	5. Thranduil's Dream pt. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a bit of a writer's block. To be honest, I kinda write this as I get inspiration. I really wanted to write another dream so here it is! Thank all of you for your comments and kudos. Feel free to leave any suggestions and once again, these characters aren't mine. Also, I apologize for any typos...

On the approach, the stream seemed to be easy to clear. About three feet wide with steep banks that were perfect for launching one's self from with the proper speed of course. The water was low as rain hadn't graced the region in over a month, barely a trickle over the dry, dusty rocks that lined the creek bed. A stale smell wafted from the tiny body of water, like vein that refused to stop bleeding even as there was no more blood to bleed. Nonetheless, the stream would be no monumental feat to hop over and at the speed his legs carried him, he'd be over and on his way in no time. 

On his way home. 

As an added bonus, there was a shout from across the way and looking up, he grinned at seeing his son. Legolas was waving frantically to get his attention, a wide grin stretched over his face. The grin then morphed into a grimace. 

“Father! Father! I'm here, hurry! It's coming!”

Thranduil chanced a glance over his shoulder and nearly stumbled in his panic as a huge, mountainous shadow chased after him, obvious claw-like projections coming from the silhouette to grab and snatch at him. The burn in his legs was painful but Thranduil would not stop. He was too close to being free. Too close to having his son and his kingdom back. 

“Father! Hurry!” 

The elf prepared the launch himself over the stream; he could feel the shadows tickling at his ankles. So close, so close but on another moment, he would be airborne. Something shuddered in the earth, causing Thranduil to pitch forward onto his hands and knees. The skin was shredded upon contact with the ground and suddenly flowing. Flowing from the wounds and then from the large gash in his face. He tried to raise his hand to hold it closed and for the life of him, could not remember the feeling of the old scar reopening. He watch dully as the blood, his blood, trickled along the ground to the stream, filling it.

The earth seemed pleased with this sacrifice and quaked in satisfaction.

The stream cracked and splintered, widening and deepening into a full canyon. Vaguely, he thought that jumping it would be much more difficult. Legolas seemed to think the same thing as he gave up on his father, shoulders dropping as he turned and walked away. Thranduil's cries for him were blocked out but a loud hissing noise that emanated from the canyon. An enormous silhouette arose, it's talons gripping the ledge as it pulled itself up. Jagged wings emerged next, blocking out the sun. They beat once and then twice in a mighty stretch, showing off the length of the appendages.

Finally, the head and body of the beast arose. It's wide mouth smirked at the fallen king, flames licking out between the monster's teeth as it began to laugh harshly. 

“Poor little elf,” it growled smugly and brought it's face close to the king. “You cannot run from me, you cannot escape this death...”

Thranduil shuddered at the freezing air that radiated from the monster's mouth, peeling his hands from the ground and screaming in pain as the skin separated from his palms. Still, he wrapped his arms around himself, teeth chattering as the beast teasingly blew a gust of frigid air over his body. 

“Silly me. You look a bit chilled,” came the understatement as Thranduil numbly nodded his head. The beast chuckled and reared his head back. 

“Allow me to make amends....”

Thranduil was enveloped in warmth, his shivering easing up and slowly, he dropped his arms. Though the prints still remained on the ground, the skin had regrown on his hands and he looked at them appreciatively. The beast lowered it's head again, satisfied with the ring of fire that surrounded the king. 

“Do I not get a thank you?” it asked, clicking its tongue against it's teeth in mock irritation. Its eyes were hot as it watched the king stand shakily and dust off his clothes. They gleamed brightly, the flecks of gold within the irises twinkling in mirth as the elf opened his mouth to speak.

“..I wish to leave.”

Scoffing sardonically, the beast shook it's head. “And why do you want to do that? 

“I want to go home.”

“Little elf, I am your home now.”


	6. Slow Erosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omigosh. I'm so sorry to all of you! A lot of stuff has happened these past few months: started college, got a full time job, and had a mega case of "what am I writing again?" But hopefully, Ill be able to post more so that I don't keep you lovely people waiting any longer. I really appreciate your patience and I apologize for any typos or crappy writing. I do not own the Hobbit nor I am I making profit from this. Thanks for reading!

The night passed slowly after the dream and in that time, Thranduil found that Smaug breathed very slowly when he slept. The rise and fall of his chest was calm and predictable and it was only occasionally when he would shift or stretch out. Thranduil found himself watching the serpent instead of sleeping, his arms wrapped around his knees as he tried to conserve body heat. The temperature within the mountain had dropped drastically and in his pride, the Elf king refused the dragon's offer of sleeping next to him.

 

He regretted that now as another shiver ran through his body.

 

The elf king missed his home and his family, his bed and his quilts. He missed the fire that would dance in the elegantly designed fireplace in his room and missed the plush pillows that would take up most of the space in his bed, almost as if it were another person in bed with him. He was pretty sure that the want for his material possessions made him selfish but at that moment, Thranduil couldn't bring himself to care much. The Elf king was entitled wasn’t he? He had been stolen after all, by a covetous Dragon of Death. Thranduil sighed softly to himself, his breath foggy in the frigid cavern air as he turned his gaze from the sleeping dragon and scanned the hordes of gold.

 

Even in the dark, they glinted faintly and for a fleeting moment, Thranduil recalled the white stones he'd lost when the dwarf king went crazy with greed. Now was his chance to find them... and then do what? It wasn't as if he could sneak them out and back to Mirkwood.

 

He couldn't sneak out if he didn't try.

 

The Silven elf shook the thought of material items out of his head for the moment as he stood from his one-man huddle. He needed to take action. Find a way out of this. He _was_ Thranduil, the King of the Woodland Realm. He kept his kingdom together with patience and diligence. He was cautious in his dealings but proud of all of his kingdom's attributes. The king had faced dragons before when he fought with his father and he'd gotten away alive. He could do it again.

 

Mentally building himself up, Thranduil shook most of the chill from his bones and turned, a few coins tickling as he tried to tread lightly over them. He glanced over his shoulder at Smaug, sneaking along the stone walkway that lead from the great hall and towards a corridor that would hopefully lead to salvation.

 

Thankfully, the worm was still asleep though his breathing seemed heavier. Perhaps he was dreaming? Thranduil didn't ponder on it long as he gracefully moved forward, his footsteps moving of their own accord, searching for the path of least noise. It was reminiscent of the king's life before he got over taken by duty. He thought fondly of teaching his son how to move soundlessly as they hunted in the woods. The corridor looked dark ahead of him, almost like the low hanging branches that gave Mirkwood its distinctive gloomy atmosphere.

 

A wayward coin crackled underneath his foot and the dragon shifted behind him, his eyes opening into narrow slits. Thranduil cursed his luck and froze.

 

Smaug sensed the absence of his new prize and growled lowly in his throat as he raised his head to scan around the hall. He couldn't have gotten....ah, there he is.

 

“And where do you think you're going?”

 

“On a walk,” Thranduil said clearly with a regal tilt to his chin, keeping a slight tremor from his voice. He'd resolved to show no weakness to the dragon; this was just like ruling and a good king never showed any impuissance. Not to his subjects and definitely not to an enemy.

 

Smaug was not impressed to say the least but that did not mean that he couldn’t play along. Raising up to follow the elf, the serpent gave a growling yawn and allowed himself to look curious.

 

“On a walk at this hour? Where would you go? Throughout the dwarves' disgusting abode?”

 

Thranduil nodded stiffly. Given any other choice, then no, he wouldn't have liked to wander around the Dwarves' old castle but he did not want to stay in the Grand Hall either.

 

“Then you should not mind my accompanying you.”

 

“You should go back to sleep instead. I don’t need your supervision,” Thranduil frowned, shaking his head and continuing on his way. “I want to find water. I need a bath.”

 

It wasn’t completely a lie. His hair and his complexion were filthy by his standards- his blurry reflection on golden goblets told him that much. He hated feeling stiff with dirt and he hated having soiled, soot covered clothes. When he was at home, he was known for his exorbitant wardrobe so being in the same robes that he was kidnapped in was beginning to grate on his nerves.

 

“If a bath is all you need, then I should be able to oblige you, yes?”

 

He wasn’t stupid. It was obvious that the Elf was trying to sneak away. Besides, it would be no big feat to conjure up a hot water for a bath. Though the dragon had been out of practice with the broader uses of his magic, he was pretty sure that he could remember the spell. Smaug raised an eye ridge, waiting for the king’s answer.

 

Surprised that the dragon even offered, Thranduil regarded him skeptically.

 

“I suppose.”

 

Humming, the dragon glanced around and gingerly picked up a shining bronze basin in his talons, dumping the coins and jewels piled in it out. He dropped the basin onto the walkway, blocking the king’s path.

 

“This will suffice, will it not you highness?” He asked with a sneer, slithering closer and bringing his mouth down to chant over the basin.

 

The intonations from the serpent’s throat sent shivers down his spine and again, the elf wondered what sort of language this was. From nowhere, hot water poured from the air, filling the makeshift bathtub. Thranduil sighed at the feeling of steam on his skin and looked up at the dragon, taking his hands off of his ears when Smaug nodded.

 

“So you know how to be obedient. I’m surprised.”

 

Thranduil looked away, watching the steam rise from the water. He could feel the steady gaze of the dragon on his back and sucked his teeth lightly.

 

“May I have some privacy?” He asked, dipping his hand into the water and sighing softly at the temperature.

“What do you wish to hide from me? I have seen a naked body before.”

 

He expected as much. Narrowing his eyes, Thranduil nodded once and began to undo his robes, skilled fingers quickly unbuttoning and stripping the garments from his lean body. He had no shame in himself. Quite the contrary. He was proud of his looks and had been on the receiving end of praise and flattery numerous times. But he’d never felt such a bright heat on his shoulders before.

 

He chanced a look back and his breath hitched. Smaug’s already hellish eyes seemed to be alight with…what was that? Awe? Reverence? Greed? Or was that bright gleam something more improper? Something like… lust. If he were completely honest with himself, Thranduil was pleased with such an intense reaction. He’d been so focused on being a king and a father, so caught up with state matters that he hadn’t considered being wanted by-

 

No. What was he thinking?

 

Huffing at himself, he gathered his long hair up into a messy bun, loosely knotting it on itself, and then stepped into the basin. A low groan sounded from his chest and Thranduil closed his eyes, surrendering to the water’s warmth. He heard a rustling behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, the Silven King was surprised to find Smaug back in his original sleeping position, eyes half-lidded.

 

“I thought you were going to keep an eye on me?” He called over his shoulder, tilting his head as if to say that he knew something the dragon didn’t. Smaug growled quietly in warning.

 

“I can watch from here.”

 

And he could.

 

While watching the king’s inadvertent strip tease, Smaug found himself feeling a skulking hunger in his belly that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Though the removal of clothes was a quick affair, the dragon found his mouth watering, so to speak, as each inch of flawless and supple skin was revealed. His eyes had taken the journey up the king’s sinewy calves and thighs, rested for a moment on the swell of his ass, and was thwarted only by the curtain of silken hair that foiled any further viewing…Until it was scooped up and out of the way. The expense of the king’s back was perfect, just begging to be bitten and marked and scratched. Those shoulders, that neck…Smaug felt as though he couldn’t breathe.

 

So he retreated.

 

“Hurry with your bath so that I may go back to sleep,” he muttered, letting a plume of smoke drift from his nostrils.

 

Frowning, Thranduil turned back around in the tub and rinsed water over himself, unknotting his hair so that he could scrub out as much dirt as he could with his nails. He felt much better when he stepped out, the water beginning to get cold, and he shivered at the chill in the cave. Surprised when a long but thin towel was draped around him, Thranduil glanced over at Smaug in silent appreciation.

 

“I don’t have to speak aloud for a spell to work. Don’t look at me like that,” Smaug muttered, summoning some simple articles of clothing for him as well and expelling the water from the basin.

 

Dressing, Thranduil wrung out his hair and braided it, his fingers nimbly weaving the strands of hair into a thick plait. He didn’t do this often but it would keep it clean longer in this environment.

 

“I thank you Dragon.”

 

Scoffing, Smaug rose up, gingerly picking up the king and dropping him down by his side. The king was clothed, all was well.

 

“Go to sleep Elf.”


	7. To Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Another chapter in a reasonable amount of time. I hope you guys are proud of me! Warning: I don't like Tauriel and I'm not sure why. I hope I don't offend anyone with my representation of her.  
> I was writing this chapter (it's kinda short) and now I have a whole new idea of where to take this story. Please enjoy the ride. Once again, I appreaciate any comments or criticism and Tolkien stuff doesn't belong to me. Enjoy!

Legolas felt smothered.

It’d only been a day and a night without his father and already he felt as if the kingdom was crumbling to pieces around him. It was if Mirkwood had been placed under a heavy, grey spell. The life and color was gone from the atmosphere; the only sounds that could be heard were the dejected footsteps of the Elves on the polished stone floors. It was almost as if the Elven king had died and sucked the collective soul of the Elves down to the grave with him. Thranduil had gone on journeys before, especially during war times, but there was always a guarantee of his return. Always a promise. But now, no such promise was given and the cloud of unknowing had settled over the kingdom.

And it weighed upon none as heavily as it did Legolas.

Sure, he had his fits of rebellion but those were normal. There was always bound to be tensions between parent and child. What child honestly held their parents in malicious contempt? It was impossible for Legolas to even think of such a thing for his father was perfect and loving and patient and fair. His Ada who was such an elegant and statuesque figure was now suffering at the foot of a vile monster.

Maybe he was even…

No. Legolas couldn’t finish the thought. Seated on his father’s empty and impeccably made bed, the prince mourned by his lonesome. He’d turned away all of the servants and Elrond, wishing to deal with his misery alone. He felt so…useless. So powerless. With all of his skill in archery, he could not stop his father from being taken. Could not do anything but watch as the king’s lithe form was carried away over the trees. Lost in his bubble of depression, the elf barely registered the small knock at the chamber door, only noticing when it was swung open a tad and a red head poked in.

How bold.

“If my father were here, you would be scolded for such an action,” the prince mumble, watching as Tauriel entered the room and approached him. His father would have never allowed her to come into his room like this. Tauriel assumed too much for her own good.

“It is a good thing that he is not here then,” she said lightly, ignoring the darkening of Legolas’ eyes at the cruel attempt at humour. “You cannot hide away in here any longer, ‘las.”

Shaking his head, the archer scowled at his friend. “It’s been but a day.”

“And how long will that turn into? A week? A month? Years? You need to take care of your kingdom. Your kingdom,” Tauriel emphasized. She came to kneel in front of him and took his calloused hands into her own. Her voice dipped low into a reverential whisper.

“You’re the king now Legolas.”

That was too much to bear.

“No! He’ll be back! I must go. You are right, I cannot snivel here any longer. I must go and find him,” the prince said, voice impassioned as he snatched his hands away from her as if burned. “The dragon said he wished to keep him as...”

“As what? You really would believe the word of that foul creature?”

Standing, the blonde elf paced the room, much unlike the quiet and still way that Thranduil handled anxiety. Tauriel watched with hidden amusement, rising to her feet as well.

“He can’t be dead. It is not so. I feel it in my soul, Tauriel. I know he lives, I must go to him.”

Shaking her head, the Captain of the Guard moved to stop Legolas’ pacing. She reached to catch his arm but was brushed off as the Elven prince continued to flit back and forth, steadfast in his belief that his dear Ada lived.

“Be realistic. Possibly as soon as the dragon left Mirkwood, your father was devoured,” Tauriel gently said, going to quickly envelope Legolas in a comforting embrace as his face crumpled with a quiet sob. “Your father may be gone but you, you still live and are young. You must take the throne.”

“Tauriel, I am not ready,” he cried quietly, his mind warring with his heart. Logically, Thranduil would have died hours ago, devoured as Tauriel had said. But it couldn’t be true. This awful tugging in his heart must mean something, should it not?

“I cannot do this alone.”

“You have Elrond and the council. You have all that your father taught you. Legolas, mellon*, you are more than capable,” she hushed him softly, petting his golden hair as she consoled him. Turning her head, she pressed her mouth to his temple and Legolas relaxed lightly.

“You are right,” he said after a time, still clinging to her as if she were his father. “Please…do not leave me yet.”

It felt as though the bubble had popped and the cloud had risen from his shoulders. As though a haze had been lifted from his eyes. Tauriel was so level-headed. Of course Thranduil, his king, would want him to carry on his legacy, to continue caring for the Elves with patience and understanding. He could not hide away forever, nursing some silly and admitted selfish desire for his Ada to be alive. He needed to grow up and take charge. He needed to make his father proud.

“Of course not,” Tauriel hummed, a wicked smirk crossing her features as she gave Legolas a light and reassuring squeeze. “By your side, I will always stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ada= Father  
> *Mellon= Friend
> 
> Tauriel, what are you even doing?


End file.
